Resilience | ✔

Chapter Ten

As Tony had predicted, there was a huge swarm of reporters on the courthouse steps. Tony shot her a sideways glance as he put his sunglasses on, like he was debating saying something, but he didn't, just opened the door and unfolded out of the car. Marley sucked in a breath as she followed him out. Flashes erupted around them, blinding even in the early afternoon sun, and she was slammed in the face with a wall of voices. People were shouting questions, holding out notepads and microphones, even sticking cameras for television out over the rope barrier. Marley didn't usually turn to adults for guidance, but she had no idea what to do and found herself immediately looking wide-eyed to Tony. He'd already started up the steps, slow, smirking easily for the cameras, waving and occasionally greeting a reporter by name. It was like he'd forgotten she was there.

Maybe that was what he'd almost said. You'll see a different me in front of the cameras. Just keep your chin up. Because this was a different him—a third Tony Stark. Not the panicking, completely open Tony she'd seen in his lab, and not the carefully guarded but trying to let a few walls down Tony she'd seen in the car. This Tony was all show, bravado, forged from years in the public eye. Presenting just enough of a character and letting the press project their interpretations of him onto it.

She would have been unnerved, and even offended, but she recognized too many of the mannerisms he was using, too much of the part he was playing. She heard and saw herself acting them out with every foster family. So she straightened her shoulders and schooled her face out of its terrified, doe-eyed expression into one of cool calm, and she started up the steps after her father. She cast a few smiles at the camera, smiles that drove confidence across the line into cockiness—but not too far. Mimicking as much of Tony's smiles as she could, which really wasn't that hard, as they were eerily similar to the ones she used on a daily basis. Let the press think he'd given her a class on it in the car or something.

And it was worth it, because he glanced back, somehow making the movement look casual and not like he was checking on her, and he hid it well, but she saw surprise flash on and off his face. He wasn't expecting to see so much of his armor reflected back at him.

She raised her eyebrows slightly at him and flashed a peace sign to one of the cameras. The corners of his eyes crinkled a little more; he continued up the steps.

Within moments, they were inside, the door shut against the shouts of the press. Marley's ears rang a little in the sudden silence, and her eyes held echoes of the incredibly bright flashes. Why did the cameras need flash? It was the middle of the day.

A woman who was the picture of attorney—pressed suit and pencil skirt, incredibly straight and shiny hair, perfect makeup, four inch heels, no-nonsense attitude—greeted them and started leading them to their destination. The courthouse seemed like the kind of place that would hold a ball: tall columns that reached for the vaulted ceilings, huge swaths of gray and white marble floors, the occasional potted plant. All it needed were a couple royal portraits and candles in the chandeliers instead of lightbulbs, and it'd be good to go. Marley tried not to stare. What she didn't understand was why this place needed to look so fancy. Couldn't they be doing something a little more productive with their money?

At last, after a couple turns, some very long hallways, and no conversation of any sort, the woman stopped in front of a large mahogany door and opened it. "In here," she said shortly. Marley noticed she had a perfect manicure, too. She followed Tony through the doorway, startling when the woman slammed it behind them.

Marley was expecting the traditional courtroom, but the room was actually just an office. A desk sat close to the wall, one chair on one side and three on the other. A window spanned most of the back wall. Jackson was already seated in one of the chairs, writing something in a file on the desk.